To say Nyimara’s mood has grown sour since discovering Marceline’s return to Salem is an understatement. The Witch Queen is livid. Not only had the damn red woman returned to an island that finally was freed to breathe the fresh air that accompanied her abandonment… but damned it all if Rhaenys and her grandson hadn’t straight up handed the bitch the Hills throne! HER THRONE! Just when it was growing ripe for the plucking, the woman managed to weasel her way back into power if only to thwart any attempt at monarchy that Nyimara might have begun to put into play. And her timing, as always, could not have been worse.
Near-black eyes scan the horizon that stretches before her. In the distance, the rolling Dunes of sand rise like phantom ships on the horizon. Even now, the land is just beyond her reach, caught tightly in the twisted grasp of the damned black bastard. Even her successful attempt to thwart his challenge is not enough to cool the sting from the recent turn of events. So when Mattheo approaches her side, the usual pleasure she found in his tentative touches and lust-filled eyes is absent. Raven-tipped ears twist backward at the bitterness in his voice. She resists the rising urge to snap at him, to release some of the pent-up anger in the form of furious passion and perhaps even a bit more bloodshed. Of course, she knew Marceline had returned. As much as she hated the damn woman, how could she not? Rhaenys’ determination to tie their families together through the children she bore with Evrain, assured that Marceline would always keep ties in the Hills. The fact that her own daughter and grandson so easily gave away the Hills is enough to make her question their blood ties.
’It seems she is making moves in the Dunes…. And in the Badlands…’The mare’s paper-thin nostrils flare as she clenches together her jaws. Mahogany ears disappear beneath the silken tendrils of her silvery white mane as voidless ooids narrow on the distant Dunes. The irony of it all is enough to make her laugh a throaty, humorless sound.
”Of course she is..” The words are a mere growl, deadly and fierce in their delivery as she narrows her gaze now toward the distant Hills. If it were only so simple as to shred Marceline to pieces, she would have done so ages ago. But even that would not grant her the power she sought. Not without help.
’...If there is any way….you need only ask…’ the genuine solidarity of his tone draw her gaze once more to that handsome face. The deep sapphire blue eyes that gaze back at her are inquisitive and honest. Just as everything he has spoken to her since their first meeting. A sultry smile curves across her ash-dusted lips as Nyimara exhales a careful, controlled breath.
”Perhaps it is time that we greet the new Queen of the Hills…. together.” she purrs, stretching her dished muzzle to brush an almost affectionate nuzzle against his cheek. Dark eyes glitter in the bright Salem sun as she continues,
”With you as my king, even she will need to fear our power.”Of course, she could have done so without him; however, the anger and hatred shown in Marceline’s eyes that day in the Fields is enough of a balm for her fury. At least for now.
”Perhaps we should also visit the other territories, ensure that they remember who I am and what we together can offer them.” she finishes, bobbing her head before rising a dark brow to his gaze expectantly.
”What do you think? ”The title is solidarity and firm, a decision that no doubt Kara would share her displeasure of later. However, once more, Nyimara finds herself thinking two birds, one stone. Piss-off Marceline, and manage to fill a role that has long needed filling. With Mattheo’s experience as princeling of whatever distant land he and Marceline had originally come from, Nyimara can only imagine he has much stronger diplomatic skills than herself. After all, she feels near certain that the only reason Marceline has gotten as far as she has is because of that silver tongue. .